Who to Trust
by dumac
Summary: High schools are home to some very odd people. { Teenlock. AU. }
1. New

School came easily to a kid like Sherlock Holmes. He deemed everything he learned there as useless before it even came out of his teachers' mouths, but he remembered all of it. He didn't miss a single one of those useless words. He kept all of the information in the back of his head until his tests, which he aces, and then he deletes all of the dull information.

That was a strategy that he made up a long time ago. In the 4th grade, to be exact. And it had never failed him once. He had the school system figured out completely.

His intellect had always made him be considered weird at such a young age. His mother used to tell him that he had an old mind and soul, but that couldn't be right, Sherlock thought. How could it, when he had never even met an adult who understood him, which was why he had never had a friend in his life. And he had no hopes of ever gaining one. Even now, one week into his first year of high school at one of London's many private schools.

His brother Mycroft, who was a senior this year, told him that there were many more types of people in high school, and he was sure that his little brother would make at least one. Mycroft was the one person who understood Sherlock the most, yet not enough to pick up on the fact that Sherlock had no desire for friends. Mycroft always had friends. He was intelligent like Sherlock, but on a much more sociable level. His little brother never understood how, and he didn't think it was important enough to find out, either.

At the current moment, students were walking in loud groups to the cafeteria. From day 1, Sherlock knew not to even bother with that place. Eating in the middle of school time slowed him down. Libraries were more of his area. Technically, students weren't supposed to skip meals, but Sherlock Holmes could find a way around anything.

"Where is it that you even go every day?" The hall was starting to clear out, but not completely. He heard those words spoken in a deflated, monotonous voice somewhere behind him, but Sherlock didn't pay any attention to it. The voice was most likely talking to someone else. God forbid someone be actually talking to _him_. "Hey," the voice continued, and now there were traces amounts of curiosity lining the dull tone, "You're not supposed to skip lunch, you know." Now the curiosity was replaced with amusement.

Sherlock finally turned around to see if the voice really was talking to him or not. He was a bit startled when he turned around to find a student standing not even a foot away from him. He did not let himself jump, however.

The boy was shorter than him, with pitch-black, short hair and large brown eyes. Sherlock had never seen him in the freshman part of the school and he had no classes with him, so he wasn't his age. Though he was shorter than Sherlock, he was older. That was obvious to the taller boy. He took a moment to study him further. He didn't get a strong sense of maturity from the boy's gaze, but rather a sense of chaos, though Sherlock didn't know why. That ruled out the possibility of him being a senior. Sherlock also noticed that the other student felt the need to tell him that he wasn't allowed to skip lunch, which meant that he was familiar with the rules here, which added to the theory that he had been here longer than Sherlock. If he was a junior, he wouldn't have told Sherlock not to wander off. Juniors can almost never tell the difference between freshmen and sophomores, and they don't want to risk wasting time by telling the rules to someone who already knows them. However, if the wide-eyed boy was a sophomore, then he could tell the difference between an older student and a new student. They're the bridge of the student body. _Aha_, Sherlock thought,_ so he's one year older than me_.

"Well?" The boy's tone had risen a bit, "Where are you going?"

"Why?"

The nameless boy's voice got high pitched, "Ooh," he smirked up at Sherlock, and the younger boy couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in curiosity at the strange boy. "You've just got out of the middle grades, but you've already got quite a deep voice." The more he spoke, the more Sherlock learned about him. For example, he wasn't from London. His oddly toned voice disguised it for a while, but he now knew that the boy was most definitely Irish.

A small smirk raised on Sherlock's mouth. He had been getting comments like that quite a bit, recently. Apparently, his voice didn't match his appearance. "I may be new but I know the rules," Sherlock assured him, "and I don't care." He finished, and turned back around.

"Well you better act like it." He heard the boy say through his teeth behind him in the same odd, high-pitched tone, and in a rather sing-song fashion as well.

Sherlock elected to ignore him from that point, onward. Or, he had hoped to, at least. Just as he started towards the direction of the library, he heard the voice of an older woman, "Excuse me, where do you think you're going?"

Sherlock turned around and saw the boy still standing there behind him, holding his hands behind his back. He had an expression on his face that could only be described by the word 'whoops', but he knew exactly what was happening before it even happened. Why else would he have told Sherlock to act like he cared at literally the last second? He had only known the boy for just a moment, but now he knew that he was smart. Maybe even clever. He looked past the boy and saw what was indeed an older woman.

The boy then spun completely around on his heel to face her. "Nowhere," the boys tone turned monotonous again, "I was just about to tell him that we weren't allowed to skip meals. He's new, Mrs. Hudson, there's no rule-breaking going on here."

"I didn't know. It won't happen again." Sherlock said with a fake smile as Mrs. Hudson looked at him.

"Off to lunch then, both of you." She ordered them both.

The boy started walking towards the double-doors to the cafeteria, and Sherlock followed him. As soon as he was sure that the woman couldn't see his face, his smile disappeared. He just continued to follow the older student into the dining hall. They both passed through the doors and into the louder room filled with students grouped together with their friends. Practically all of the tables were taken already.

"Good job," Sherlock said to the boy in front of him, "If only you hadn't felt the need to stop me, I would have gotten away and you would have somewhere to sit."

The boy just kept walking and turned his head to the side so that Sherlock could hear him, "Sounds boring. Just shut up and follow me."

Sherlock suspected that maybe the boy also had plans for escaping lunch, so he followed him. "Who are you, anyways?"

"Jim Moriarty. Hi. And you?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

Jim said nothing for a moment and just continued walking across the large, crowded room. Then, he abruptly stopped, and Sherlock almost ran into the back of him. Jim spun around on his heel. "You're Mycroft's brother?" He asked, squinting up at Sherlock.

"You know my brother?" Sherlock wondered.

"I know _of_ him." Jim said. He spun back around and continued walking. "If I hadn't met you just now," he started, "I would have guessed that you would be following in his footsteps. Your brother's, that is. He's quite… popular." He finished. Sherlock still didn't know what to tell from his monotone voice.

"Yes, well… We are similar in ways." Sherlock noted.

Jim hummed knowingly, "Of course, yes. But you're different. You're not ordinary."

"And my brother is?"

"Dreadfully so." Jim sighed.

"You just said you had never met him." Sherlock pointed out. He knew that he could have figured out if a person was ordinary or not even if he hadn't officially met the person. But, he also knew that his ability to do that wasn't normal, even though it was just thinking and observing, which are both supposed to be normal human things.

"I don't need to." Jim said in an even more dull tone, which Sherlock didn't even think was possible.

So, Jim Moriarty _could _think like him? It seemed to be that was, and the thought of there being someone else out there like him almost made Sherlock want to smile. But, he couldn't be sure yet.

The boys approached a table that was half-filled with people who seemed to keep to themselves. Most were reading; some were writing. Jim sat down at the end of the table and waved his hand to the seat next to him, where Sherlock then sat down.

"As soon as that administrator turns his back, I'm leaving." Jim said. "Would you care to join?" He asked, not to Sherlock, but rather a female sitting across from them. She was rather attractive, with brown hair that was pulled up and wide, blue-green eyes. Sherlock didn't recall ever seeing her before.

"Of course," the brunette said with a smile at Jim, who wasn't looking at her, and then her eyes traveled to the taller boy beside him. "Have you gone and made friends with Sherlock Holmes of all people, James?" She asked, sounding like she was about to start laughing.

Jim looked up at her, and then at Sherlock. "I wouldn't say friends," he smirked at him, "but I should have known you would recognize him." He paused, and then looked back at the girl, "Sherlock, this is Irene Adler. She's a stalker." Irene shot him a dirty look. "And a whore, but that's beside the point." He said quickly. "I wonder how many pictures you have of the boy already." He added and quickly reached down under the table and into Irene's bag. He jumped up from his seat with a small, black mobile phone in his hand.

"James, give that back to me, now." Irene ordered, standing up and reaching her arm across the table, waiting for him to give it back to her. Hopefully he would soon, because she looked ready to attack him.

Jim smirked and glanced at Sherlock, putting the phone back in Irene's possession. "Thirty-eight pictures, Irene. Thirty-eight. That's obsessive." He sat back down. "Watch out, Sherlock, she seems to fancy you. And she's not the only one."

"Oh please," Irene started, "I don't have to fancy him to be interested. He's the Iceman's little brother, I knew he would be of interest to you sooner or later, so I figured that I may as well start learning about him ahead of time. And now, here you are, being friendly with the boy." She smirked.

"I'm not being friendly," he droned, "I'm just as you say. An interested party." He paused, "Now go and make yourself useful and spot the door, would you?"

"Why don't you make Mr. Holmes do it?" She asked lightly, getting up from her seat anyways because she knew that Jim wasn't going to change his mind.

"Because I need to make sure _Mr. Holmes_ stays with me." Jim said, and the turned around in his seat to keep an eye on the administrator standing in the middle of the room. "Be ready," he muttered to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked back to Irene. Se grabbed her bag and backed up to the wall next to the door that led outside. She positioned her hand so that she could open the door quickly and quietly when she needed to. His eyes went back to the administrator, where Jim was also looking. The middle-aged man had his hands on his hips, scanning the room. He stayed like that for a moment, until there was a noise on the opposite side of the room from a student dropping their textbook. The man turned to the side to try and identify the source of the noise and Jim tapped Sherlock on the arm. They both shot up out of their seats and raced towards the door. Irene already had it opened half-way and they both slipped out along with Irene behind them, who then shut the door quietly.


	2. Sacrifice

"The last time James tried to get a kid to skip with him, he was too slow and the poor boy got caught." Irene laughed, walking alongside Sherlock. Both of them were walking behind Jim, who had his hands in his pockets. "The kid was his roommate as well; you can only imagine how they get along."

"Please don't talk about me to him, Irene." Jim requested.

"Do you not trust me?" Sherlock smirked.

"So he does talk…" Irene muttered, and then spoke louder, "James doesn't trust anyone."

"Well you seem to know a bit about him." Sherlock pointed out.

"Which is why she's at the bottom of the list of people to trust." Jim groaned, and then continued, "Like I said, she's a stalker. And I'm at the top of her list. Even above you, Sherlock. For now." You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "She's smarter than she seems."

"If you two were normal, I'd already have enough information to write your biographies." Irene claimed, proudly.

"Which is why I don't trust anyone." Jim said.

"You and I have something in common, then." Sherlock replied.

"Oh, there's more than just one thing." Jim said in a higher pitch.

It was a rather creepy reply, but Sherlock left it alone. He just came to the conclusion that Jim was just a creepy kid altogether. But then again, people have said the same thing about Sherlock.

They continued walking and entered the sophomore building from the back entrance. There were no classrooms in the freshman, sophomore, junior, or senior buildings. They were made just for dorms. Every class was in the main building, along with the gym and the dining hall, which was where the just left. The buildings were large, which was why some students could have rooms to themselves if they paid for it.

"Look out for dormkeepers, they're always creeping around when students aren't supposed to be here." Jim said, obviously directed at Sherlock since Irene already knew, as she followed him back here almost every day.

Having never been in this building a day in his life, Sherlock thought it would be the smartest decision to just stay behind Jim the whole time.

Quite a bit of time passed as the three students snuck throughout the building, and the more time went on, the more confident Sherlock got. At this point, he was no longer walking behind Jim, but rather on his right side, and Irene was on his left. Their steps were silent, which showed that none of them were strangers to sneaking around.

Feeling a very slight tug near the bottom of his shirt, Sherlock almost panicked, as he thought that a dormkeeper had somehow snuck up on him. But when he looked down, he saw that the purple fabric of his shirt was in between two of Jim's fingers rather than a dormkeeper's. He had no idea what the older boy was doing until the moment before they approached a corner leading to another hall, which was when Jim replaced his two fingers with his entire hand, grabbing a fistful of Sherlock's shirt and pulling him back onto the wall next to him.

It was such a quick, swift action that Irene noticed it a step too late, which was when the boys heard the voice of a dormkeeper stop Irene from taking another step.

Irene didn't look back at the boys to give them away and just walked down the hall to accept her punishment from the dormkeeper.

Moments later, Jim looked around the corner. The dormkeeper had Irene by her arm, taking her to the sophomore office at the front of the building. When he was certain they were out of hearing range, Jim pulled back and turned to grin at Sherlock, "That stupid bitch will be in for it even more when they figure out that she's not even a sophomore."

"She's not?" Sherlock asked with a peering expression.

"Nope," Jim answered, amused. "She's your age, which means that she's more of your problem than mine, now." He smirked, and started walking again.

Sherlock ignored the comment about Irene and walked with him, "How much do you think she'll get in trouble for something like that?"

"A few days of detention. Adding on that she was in a different grade's building, maybe 4 days." He stopped at a dorm with the label 889a on it, and pulled a key out of his back pocket, "Maybe 5, at the most. I'm sure we'll get an earful about it at dinner time." Jim put the key in the lock, twisted it, and opened the door. He paused in front of the doorway and Sherlock saw him smirk. He was staring into the room with a very amused expression. The shorter boy then started strutting into his own room. "Well, well… you finally figured it out, Johnny-boy. I'm so proud." Jim remarked, slightly high-pitched, but monotonous nonetheless.

Sherlock followed him into the room and saw that Jim was talking to a light-haired boy twisted around in the chair at his desk. He was practically glaring at Jim.

The student, apparently named John, looked at Sherlock and pointed at him briefly, "Got yourself a boyfriend there, Jim?" John asked, in an attempt to mess with him.

Sherlock scowled.

Jim turned his head to glance at Sherlock, and then looked back at John, "I wish." He answered.

That really wasn't the answer that either of them were expecting. John gave him an odd look, and Sherlock was just trying to tell if he was being sarcastic or not. With a voice like that, there was really no way of knowing.

"Sherlock, stay here, will you? I'm going to fetch something you might want." Jim said, vaguely. He left the room and the door closed behind him with a click.

Sherlock wanted to object to leaving him there with John, as he didn't know him, but it was too late, and Jim was gone.

"I hope he gets caught." John commented, turning back around to the computer on his desk.

Sherlock smirked, "I doubt he will."

"No, of course he won't," John started, "he's too much of a _genius_ for that. " He said, sarcastically, "And even if he did get caught, he'd get someone else to take the blame for him somehow."

"He already did." Sherlock put his hands in his pockets and walked over to John's desk. "Irene Adler. She was coming with us. Jim must have memorized what routes the dormkeepers take. He pulled me back at the last second, but Irene didn't notice fast enough. She's at the office now." Sherlock explained, and leant against the wall next to the desk.

John laughed, "Of course. I'm kind of glad about that one though; she creeps me out." He leant back in his chair and crossed his arms, "You're not his friend, though, right? I mean, Jim doesn't have friends. Victims? Yes. But not friends."

Sherlock hummed and said, "I don't have friends either." He didn't have a chance to ask what John meant with his comment about Jim having 'victims', because Jim walked back through the door. Sherlock looked at him as the older boy took something out of his pocket and tossed it to him.

Sherlock caught it and quickly identified it as a pack of cigarettes.

"Smokes?" John wondered aloud and then turned to look at Jim, "So what poor kid did you mug this time?"

"Not important." Jim droned, not actually denying that he just stole the pack from someone.

Sherlock wasn't listening to their pointless exchange of words. Instead, he was trying to figure out what tipped Jim off for him to know that he was a smoker. There was literally nothing obvious that would have told him that. Maybe a few things that would let someone of his own intellectual level figure it out, but Sherlock didn't know anyone like that other than his brother and himself. He was doubtful when he met him, but Sherlock was now starting to believe that he actually did find someone like him in this godforsaken school.


End file.
